The Beginning of The End
by ThePackRat
Summary: Anna Keeler is horrified to find out that she is put into the Hunger Games. She needs to find out how to survive... in a VERY interesting arena. She needs to fight to the death, battle insanity, and perhaps escape back to her District with the help of a newly made friend from the Capitol and several magic portals, through which she can travel to different times and worlds.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

District 12 used to be a lot better before the Hunger Games. Now, my and my sister cower in fear at what is about to become. I am 11, but I'll be 12 next month. Just in time for the Reaping.

My sister, Laura, is 6 years old.

My father is a good provider, but ever since the Accident, he's crippled, and can't hunt as well. He fought in the Revolution, with the Capitol. If he had fought against them, he would have been found and killed for sure.

So, he goes out into the woods with me and helps me hunt. I'm still learning on a bow, and I'm a pretty fair fighter with a sword. But my main weapon is a whip. I can catch prey by the neck, reel them in and then finish them off with my sword.

I trade at our new market, The Hob. It's a really nice place! So is District 12. Sure, it's not the nicest of the districts, but I still enjoy living here, because everyone is friendly, all of the buildings are clean and new, and there's lots of deer and game to hunt.

The Hunger Games are brand new, and there's only been one, last year. We're still a little unsure on how everything goes, but I think I have the routine pretty well down.

We are all summoned to the Town Square. Francine Button, a Capitol Official, comes and makes a huge speech about how great this country is and how lucky we are to live in it and crap like that, and then she plays a video about why the Hunger Games were established. My father is in the corner as one of the soldiers!

I don't know why we had to rebel. Things were pretty good! We moved about freely, trading goods with the other districts, and sometimes even with the Capitol! We had plenty of crops to harvest, and things to eat, until District 13 called a meeting with the Mayors of the other districts, and talked about a Revolution. Thus, here we are, getting assembled for the Reaping.

I usually just throw a hair ribbon in to tie up my hair and smooth out my day clothes. Francine Button thinks that we should all dress up, although none of the Peacekeepers make a big deal out of it, so none of us take it too seriously.

Occasionally, you can find someone who gets all freaked out and dresses in their Sunday best, as if someone will do something if they don't.

People aren't very afraid of Francine, because they know that the whole 'Capitol Official' thing is just something they throw in next to her name to make her seem more important than she really is.

The Reaping is today. My birthday was last week, and we celebrated, although with twelve candles on the cake, there was a strange silence around our table. My sister, Lydia, is on the verge or tears.

"You... you won't leave me, right?"

I give a sad smile and absentmindedly smooth out her dress, fiddle with her hair, anything to keep my hands busy to avoid answering that question.

"I can't lose you, Anna."

I look up, surprised at the words she says, and even though she's only six, she understands a lot more about our community and our lives than she ordinarily pretends to.

I smile at her.

I don't say that I won't get chosen, because if I do, then she'll be upset and angry and hurt, and it's just easier to avoid any possible heartbreak.

_May the odds be ever in your favor._ Such cruel words, when we know that we'll only be slaughtered eventually.

I put my name in a few extra times secretly, for the grains that we get. My name would have only been in once. The odds would have been in my favor. But now, my name was in the bowl 76 times.

Way too many for me to hope for a chance of life.

Way too many for me to hope for a chance of survival.

I know that there was only a slight chance of my name being chosen, but if I died in the Games because I refused to take precautions, I wanted my family to be well off.

My father scoops me up in his arms and ruffles my hair, giving me a kiss on the cheek and a reassuring smile.

"You won't be chosen. Your name is only in there once, kiddo."

If only he knew.

My family was sure to find out eventually, after they received the 75 packages of grain and oil.

I turn around to see my father, holding his crutches, and my mother holding Lydia on her lap. My mother had been so good to me, spending extra time with me just in case I did get chosen and reassuring me over and over again that I wouldn't be chosen.

Francine Button walks up to the stage, swinging her hips ridiculously and puckering her lips, the new style in the Capitol, I guess.

"Now, you all know what is about to come, and even though one of your sons and daughters will be slaughtered, it will be in honor! It's very fashionable in the Capitol," she adds, as if that makes the pain any less painful.

We all turn our attention to the projector where the video is shown, and then she walks over to the boys bowl.

She waves her hand over the bowl dramatically, searching for just the right paper, until she grabs one.

She unfolds it carefully.

"Jordon Laughully."

I gasp and turn over to poor Jordon. He walks up bravely, even though I know he wants to pass out.

We played together with a few school friends for years. We still did, sometimes.

"Any volunteers?" She asks, smiling wickedly.

I've never heard silence so loud.

"Well, very well then." She says, a little disappointed that there will be no drama of a volunteer this year.

She walks over to the girls bowl, brushing past Jordon as if he was never there.

She cuts the theatrics, knowing that we're all holding our breaths, hoping that it won't be us.

I can't hope.

I can't afford to.

"Anna Keeler."

I feel lightheaded. I knew that this would happen, but I didn't think that it would really happen! I thought that just maybe, I would be pleasantly surprised! I mean, I knew a girl with her name in the bowl 294 times, because her family was so poor, they needed to make their own clothes and they were so hungry that their baby died from it.

Why didn't she get chosen?

Why me?

"WAIT!"

I walk quickly to the stage, trying to ignore my father limping as fast as he can after me.

"Anna! Wait!"

I dare to turn around. To look at my sister's face, streaked with tears. To see my mother weeping into her apron. To see my father's lip trembling. I see all of my friends, staring at me solemnly, but not one of them speaks up. Cowards!

I want to scream and shout, to curse them all for their false friendship, but instead I am silent and turn around slowly. Could I really ask that of them? Would I really be willing to do the same thing for them?

Of course not.

He catches up to me and lays a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm not ready to see you go. My- my little girl." He whispers.

But I only turn my back on him.

I have to, otherwise I might cry, and how would that reflect on me?

There is no other life now, I realize as I step onto the stage.

There is only here, only now.

And there is only survival.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Francine Button is strangely silent as we go around the village, saying our good-bye's. I stop by everyone besides my family first, to avoid the pain of having to say good-bye forever.

Even still, tears sting my eyes, and I brush them away angrily with the back of my hand, pretending as if I was rubbing away the sleep from my eyes, rather then erasing signs of weakness that would make me a quicker target in the games.

I stop by the hob, and everyone bows their heads slightly, respectfully.

A few mumble words of comfort, good-bye and memories, but the majority of the people crowding the market are silent, watching and waiting for me to leave so that they can cry for their child or grandchild or friend in peace.

District 12 is always silent on Reaping days.

Not even the wails of hungry babies are heard, as if they, too, know the danger that we'll embark on.

I stop by the lake, the woods, my friends' hovels and my favorite places. When I stopped by the bakery, they even gave me a loaf of free, warm cinnamon-raisen bread which I tear pieces off of and savor, eating quickly to try and fill my empty heart and mind, trying to bring back the life and emotion into it.

Finally, I stop by my family's worn, weather-beaten hut, stopping occasionally to touch the rail or lightly finger the chain of the porch swing.

Even the quiet, grey, peeling shutters are sentimental to me.

I enter the doorway without another thought at my impending doom.

Instantly, my mother throws herself at me, her arms wrapped around me tightly, as if she would never let go.

My father limps over and drapes his big, strong arms around us, too, and Lydia wedges her way between mother and me and clings to my legs tightly.

I feel weighted down with sadness, and with my duty; to survive for my family.

By the time they step away, my pretty, forest-green shirt is soaked with tears and my family's faces are all red and puffy.

No one says anything, what is there to say?

But when Francine Button steps through the door telling me that it's time to go, they're all crowding around me, trying to shove in last, meaningful words.

"I love you."

"I'll miss you, but I'll never stop thinking about you."

"I'll always sleep with the teddy you gave me."

"Wear your shawl at night."

"Hide, don't fight."

"Give 'em a good show."

"We all love you..."

Those were the last words I heard before three peacekeepers shove the door shut, wrenching me away, even though I'm still trying to cling to the doorway, the windowsill, anything that will keep me there just a little longer.

Of course, eventually I let go, because the Capitol always gets what they want.

A little more Peacekeepers, a little more force, in the end, they _always_ win. There can't be any other way.

Otherwise they would risk Rebellion.

And then things would fall to pieces.

I feel weighted with each step toward the gleaming silver bullet train that will take me to the Hunger Games. I swallow down the lump in my throat, and climb up the steps of the train, Francine pushing me to go faster. I whip around angrily, giving her a glare so cold and so harsh that she gasps in offense and steps down one step.

Good.

I want to be alone with my own thoughts now, and nothing, I repeat, _nothing_ will hold me back from weeping in my room.

"Well, even though you won't be here for very long, I still am a firm believer in _manners_, Anna! Please, do contain your urge to fight. I know that you're excited and all, but we musn't be hostile. Acting like animals will not be the best way to get on each other's good side and if I were you, I would get a new dress, because that one is awful drab, and we'll have lots of time in the Capitol, so just-"

I stop listening after the second sentence. I am not excited.

_You are the one acting like an animal, Francine! YOU are!_ I want to shout at her, to scream and to make her realize what she's taken away from me.

But I just sigh, knowing that she wouldn't understand.

She couldn't.

She's been raised on this kind of television, thinking that humans are like bubbles, and when you pop one, it doesn't matter, because you can always blow another batch.

We don't matter to them.

We never can.

As soon as we're inside of the train and moving, I push past Francine mid-sentence and stride to my room. I can hear her calling my name, but if these are going to be my last few days, I'm going to spend them exactly how I want to spend them, and even Francine Button can't tell me otherwise.

I'm not gonna go shopping, I'm not gonna go to the welcome banquet that she's going to throw, and I am not going to the District parties. I am going to live it up, having the time of my life.

After dinner, which I take in my room, Francine grabs my arm roughly and tugs me all the way down the hallway, past a sign that says 'DO NOT ENTER' and into a dark room.

"There is someone here to see you." She says, seemingly to me.

"Where am I?" But Francine shuts the door too quickly, snapping the curtains shut behind her, closing off the hallway.

"I take it that you haven't met me before." A voice emerges from the darkness, startling me.

I knock over a vase in my shock, and then attempt to clean it up.

"No. Leave it." The voice commands.

I immediately drop the pieces I had scooped up.

"My name is Turner. I will be your mentor. I understand what you're going through. I felt the same anger and pain that you are feeling now. I'm here for one purpose and one alone: To forget, and to help you forget momentarily. I am going to be giving you additional training- for now, at least, until you are ready to join back with the others. First things first, you will do exactly what I tell you when I tell you and you will not be having any time to yourself for a very long time now, so I would forget any plan that you have to ignore me. Have a seat."

I sit down hesitantly, not knowing what to say or do to his weirdness.

"You are very weird. I'm sorry, but I have no shame in saying that."

"Let's start with some fighting strategy. I'll fight you, and you fight back."

And then Turner leaps from the shadows with a knife in his hand! He knocks me down, scooting his legs up to pin down my arms. He presses the cold, hard blade of the knife against my throat and grins.

"You lose."

And then he raises the knife high above and sends it crashing down into my throat...

I awake to an urgent rapping at the door.

"Anna, for goodness sake, wake up! You must meet Turner."

I unpin my hair in a single motion, shaking out my long, red-brown locks. I untangle it with my fingers, running to the small bathroom in my room and turning on the tap. I run some water in my hair, smooth it down and pat it dry. I then slide open the compartment door.

"Well, it certainly took you long enough. In the Capitol, you must not wait for anyth-"

"One moment, Francine." I say, flashing a broad, false smile.

Before she can protest, I shut the door in her face. I run to the small drawer containing my belongings from District 12 and rummage through the small pile of clothing and sacks of food, in case I needed it. Care packages, if you will. I finally see what I'm looking for; A small, silver yet sturdy pocketknife, and it would do if I had to defend myself.

I open the compartment door again, and me and Francine start down the long, grey, colorless hallway to the dinner car.

She doesn't notice the knife I am clutching behind my back, so firm that I'm sure my knuckles are white as snow, and poised for attack.

My every nerve is ready to spring into action in case it's necessary.

I haven't seen him yet, but I am certain that Turner is yet another person that I cannot rely on or trust.

Francine takes me through a doorway and into the dinner hall. There, awaiting me, is a banquet!

Turner is an average sized man, very muscular. His cheeks are red and jolly and he is smiling broadly, a smile that was so bright, I couldn't help but give a small smile back.

"Anna, my dear! I have heard so much about you! Come, come, sit! We saved you a seat. Ooo, look, there's a bread and butter pudding! Do you like bread and butter pudding? I do. It reminds me of, oh, never mind, just sit down and eat!"

I run my hand along the smooth, polished dark wood of the table. Cherrywood, by the look of it. I gingerly sit down next to Turner, the seat he had eagerly gestured for me to sit down in.

The cushions on the chair are so soft, it's like sitting in a cloud. There are such intricate designs on everything- the doilies, the silverware, the dishes, the chair, even the ground has magical thread work, weaving in and out of the pattern!

It's like living in a dream.

The first course is soup, followed by salad, followed by appetizers (cheese on crackers and other delectable finger foods),closely followed by the main course, a delicious turkey slathered in gravy and stuffed with the most delicious stuffing I've ever tasted. Fruit is surrounding it in baskets, and cranberries are passed around in a small, silver dish. The last course is a lovely dessert; Eclairs, ice cream, cakes, pastries and other lovely things.

I sit back, full for the first time in my life.

I think about District 12, and suddenly, I feel despicable, gorging myself on delicacies, while others back home are fighting to survive on their meager ration of bread.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin and without a word, leave the table.

I run to my room as soon as I'm out of sight. The knife is still in my hand. I burst through the door and shred the curtains, the drapes and the satin sheets on my bed. I carve my name an inch thick in whatever surface I could find. I sink my nails into the wall, clawing the beautiful wallpaper to shreds. Then, I sink down to the floor and cry, eventually falling asleep on the shreds of fabric.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

In the morning, all of the wreckage that I had worked so hard to create is vanished. Completely gone, and replaced with new things too.

I laugh softly.

More 'Capitol Magic', as the people in District 12 call it.

I'm feeling a lot better about the world today. After all, if I'm going to die soon, then I should enjoy it as much as I can, right?

After I clean myself up a bit, I smooth out my wrinkled t-shirt and walk next door to see the other tribute, the boy that I know.

I knock on the door.

"Jordon?" I call softly, not wanting to wake him, if he isn't already awake.

It's still dark outside, and I don't want both of us to be kept up.

There's a pause and a brief scuffling behind the sliding metal door before I hear his reply: "Yeah, come on in. Door's open."

As soon as I slide the door open, I can see that both of us had a rough night. There are dark circles underneath his eyes and his skin is pale, making him look ghostly. His clothes are rumpled and his hair has obviously not been brushed, and the buttons on his shirt are in the wrong buttonholes. His shoes are on the wrong feet, his socks mismatched.

I don't blame him, though.

His family was one of the more successful ones, back in District 12. He probably misses his old, successful life where things were easy and he never had to worry about things like the Hunger Games. Usually, his family just gave Francine a generous bribe, the kind of generous that says, "Keep my kid out of the Hunger Games and you get to keep all of this lovely money."

I walk forward tentatively and give him a hug, the kind of hug that says "I'm here for you". He gives me a smile, but I can tell that it's forced.

I sit down next to him. He seems to remember that he's the host, so he quickly says,

"Oh, yeah," and weakly gestures toward the seat that I already sat in.

"What's up?"

"I just- I miss my family."

I roll my eyes. "No, duh."

He gives me a sideways smile, the same one that he used to give me when we used to hang out in District 12.

But then, he looks around him and the smile fades away.

I don't know what to do. I want to say something funny, something that will make both of us laugh and remember the friendship that we used to have, but nothing comes to mind and we are left sitting in awkward silence.

The train lurches to a stop, probably to get more fuel, and for the staff to get some rest.

Jordon stands up and grabs my hand.

"Do you wanna take a walk?"

We walk and talk for a little bit, about our family and friends and Francine's obsessive need to control.

He even laughs once, but soon we are back inside.

"I'm kind of hungry. How about you?" I ask.

"A little bit."

We walk down to the kitchen. He makes both of us some cocoa which we sip in silence.

Soon, daylight is streaming in through the windows.

"Thanks," I say, smiling.

"For what?" He asks.

"For keeping me company."

"No problem."

I walk back to my compartment and just as I climb back into bed and close my eyes, there is a sharp rapping at my door.

"Anna! Rise and shine! Today we shall be visiting the Capitol!"

I groan and before she can knock again, I push open my compartment door, shove past Francine and walk to the kitchen with her in tow. I munch on my cereal, Francine still blabbering on and on about how "That was absolutely uncalled for! Where does _that_ attitude come from?"

Her endless chatter actually makes me laugh a little.

"What's so funny?" She asks, completely oblivious.

"You!" I reply.

The tunnel is so dark, I can't see anything. Just as I think that it's never going to end, (a better fate than the Hunger Games) a bright burst of light almost blinds me.

There is a shining beacon of light, and it's brighter than anything I've ever seen!

"This must be what Heaven is like," I whisper, but on closer look, it's more like the other end.

The Capitol comes into plain view, it's metal surfaces catching the light, so that it almost blinds anyone who lays their eyes on it.

A huge Capitol flag ripples in the wind, large enough for anyone around to see it from anywhere in the city. I sigh dreamily as I daydream about what life must be like there. Endless service, food that in one sitting would be endless enough to feed 6 Districts, and luxury accommodations. There are so many gadgets that all do so many wonderful things, that I would end my life and three others trying to think of them all.

My daydream is interrupted.

We pull into the station, and a sea of freak-like faces stare back at me.

Huge eyelashes, dyed skin, pierced teeth, and one person has giant gems pierced into his eyelids, keeping them wide open. Another person has mirrors inserted all over their skin, so they shone all around. Teeth are also dyed. A woman has a massive ship's chain clamped to the back of her tongue, wrapping around her head and ending pierced in her belly-button. Clothing is a whole other matter. One person has a yellow collar so big, it was about a yard long. Another has a giant green bow tie the size of a small canoe.

But no matter how "fashionable" or weirdly styled, they are all laughing and smiling and waving at us, as though we are their best friends.

My attention from the crowd is diverted, if that's even possible. I glance over at the door where someone is pounding. Without a word, Francine Button opens the door and lets the person in. Hands shoot out, hoping to get inside or touch our now famous bodies.

I get a better look at the person.

She is a girl, around my age, maybe older.

She has pink hair in two ponytails at the top of her head, both short. She has long, butterfly lashes that are hot pink. Her skin is left un-dyed, separating her from the crowd. Her teeth are, though. Mostly shades of magenta, blue, green and pink, although there are reds and yellows, too. One hand is on her hip, while the other is hanging at her side. She has black fingerless gloves and bracelets all up her arm. She obviously likes things like that, because she has four necklaces laced around her neck. Most of them have beads or other trinkets on them, none of them quite as loud as the scene outside. She has a short, violet skirt with three layers and ruffles on all of them. She has green tights and brown, leather hiking boots. She has a yellow leather vest and a red cotton short-sleeved shirt.

In other words, she looks pretty normal.

She's beaming at me, and beckoning me over. I hesitate, and she grabs my hand and skips down the three stairs and onto the ground, dragging me with her.

"DON'T YOU WANT TO SEE THE CITY?" She yells over the roar of the crowd.

"NO!" I shout back, shaking my head emphatically.

But, she's too excited. She drags me off through the crowd, pushing through until we emerge in the station, stumbling because we aren't used to so much space.

She gives a little hop away from me and holds out her arms, smiling.

"What do you want to see first, friend?"

Friend?

No. I can't get into something like this. Capitol + District= BAD COMBO.

"Look, um..."

I pause to let her know that I don't know her name.

"I'm Sonia! Sonia Strumm!" She says cheerily.

"Look Sonia, you seem really nice and all, but I can't really-"

"Ooo, look, a mockingjay! Let's tail it!" She interrupts, pointing and bounding off.

When she's almost out of earshot, she looks back.

"Come on!" She shouts.

I sigh and have no choice but to follow.

"What are you, nuts, lady?" I ask.

"Yep!" She answers, stopping then resuming running.

I huff and puff, but Sonia seems to have no end to her energy. She just keeps trotting along, barely even breaking a sweat.

"Are you ready to go faster?!" She squeals excitedly.

"No! Are you nuts or something?!"

"Didn't you already ask that question?"

Finally, we emerge on a hillside. I breath a sigh.

"You can see the whole city from here,"

"I thought that you'd like it."

Indeed I do. The whole city is not what it's supposed to be, a beacon of hope, but that of light instead.

I sit down and pout.

What's the point of getting to enjoy this if I'm just going to die anyway?

"What's wrong?" Sonia asks, seeming truly concerned.

"You are. I am. This stupid world is. I hate you! You are the reason why I'm out here-"

"Enjoying this?"

"No! Dying!"

To my surprise, she laughs. I roll my eyes.

"You find my pain funny?"

"You're too serious."

I'm confused by this. What does she mean? Is there something wrong with the way I'm reacting? What does she find funny about this? Am I taking death too serious, because that is a serious matter.

She laughs harder at my confused expression.

"If you're going to die, then you should enjoy this! Get out here! Do things that you've never done before!"

I scoff.

"It won't save my life."

"It might."

I look at her, and she looks sad. She is distant, like she's recalling a painful memory, but then she looks at me and it's as if that one moment was just a figment of my imagination. She smiles, a little sadly, though.

"If you get to know me, we'll fix you up."

"Who's 'we'?" I ask expectantly.

She begins to run down the hillside towards the shining metal city.

"You talk too much! Just follow me!" She calls.

With a tiny smile, I begin to chase after my new Capitol companion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

I run back to the large building that I'll be staying in, Sonia taking the lead as always. We actually had fun! There was a giant track in the air around the city and a shuttle came around and around it.

There was a glass bottom, so one could see the entire city.

Sonia saw me looking at it, and paid for both of us to go on. She told stories, cracked jokes, most of which I didn't get, but I laughed anyway, because I was trying to strengthen something that I could sense was happening between us, something absolutely impossible: Friendship.

When I am safely inside of my room, I sink down to the floor.

This isn't supposed to be happening! I'm supposed to be stopping friendships from happening and not making them! I don't want to have to let go of everything good in my life. However, my time with Sonia might be good for me. After all, I had actually smiled with her, a person from the Capitol, of all things, who had told me that I was taking everything too seriously. I am not! Am I?

I had a flashback of everything.

Oh gosh, I am!

I take a quick look around the room. Hmm... Chic!

My room is large and domelike. I have a smooth, glossy black floor and the same white walls. There is a large bed in the corner, a TV and a large window, stretching out across half of my room. It shows the city outside, the people clamoring around. I can hear their ruckus, almost like animals. They behave like them, anyway.

Aside from that and a small black desk with a computer, paper, a chair and some pencils, there is nothing. A vast space, cold and empty.

Oh, well. I just have to make the most of it.

I stand up. There is a knocking at the door, probably Francine.

I open the door before she can start on her fifth round of pummeling my door.

"What is it, Francine?"

I groan, but then I see that it is not Francine at all, but Turner.

I haven't seen much of him since the dinner throughout our two day trip. His cheeks are red from drinking, as usual, although I can't blame him. I would want to drink it all away, too.

"It's time to train, my dear. It's time to train."

We are all given uniforms. They are skintight spandex exercise uniforms, comfortable for doing anything. They have a dark red stripe up both sides, the color of blood.

"Do we have to wear these?" I groan, holding it up with my pointer finger and my thumb.

"Yes, you do. Everyone does. During the games, you will wear something different, however. Each District will be wearing different uniforms, although you and Jordon will be sharing the design." Turner replies, scratching his head.

He's only nineteen. I can tell that he's reliving something painful. After all, it's just so recent for him. Too recent.

We step out of the elevator we were riding in.

"There's a changing room to your left. Change in a stall and whatever you do, avoid eye contact. Don't look at anyone, they seem to see it as a threat, especially the Careers."

"Careers?"

"Certain bloodthirsty tributes. Me and my friend nicknamed them that in the first game."

He gives a mischievous smile, but at the memory of his friend, he winces and turns away.

My smile fades and we're left in awkward silence.

After a while, I hear his voice again, quieter.

"Just don't- Don't attack. No one was there to teach me that."

I put my hand gently on his arm.

"You can talk any time you want to. I'm there. Just remember that who you are is not what you did. It's what you choose to do now that makes up for it."

He gave a sideways smile.

"That's a good quote. Who said it?"

I started walking down the hallway.

"Me."

I should have known that Sonia would be there. Today, her skin was a light shade of purple. I saw a tattoo peeking out of the edge of her short-sleeved shirt in bright, colorful ink. Her teeth were still dyed and some were pierced and had small diamonds in them. She was wearing a black layered skirt, a white shirt and a black, open-style tank top over that with a classic bow tie. I shooed her away.

"You can't be here!"

"But we had so much fun before- didn't we?" She asked in confusion.

"You don't get it! If tributes around here think that I'm friends with the people who are making us do this in the first place- which I am NOT, by the way- then I might be in trouble. So, _please_ just go away!"

"Of course I won't! I'm here for you! To support you! I'll see you soon!"

She calls as she skips off, her hair (that today was now all the way down to her ankles and beyond, wrapping around her arms in a very weird style that made it hard for her to lift her arms) flowing out behind her.

I groan, and step into the restroom with the women's symbol on it.

There are girls everywhere.

It's hard not to look at people, so I just keep my eyes down and hurry along into a stall.

I bang the door shut and lock it.

It's very cramped inside, and on the walls there's lots of graffiti scratched in, saying things like: "CAPITOL SUCKS!" or "I REPEL THE CAPITOL" or even other things about the capitol that I, in good conscience, can't write down.

I quickly change into my uniform and jog out, seeing as almost everyone has left.

They are all standing in a row, perfectly straight, eyes ahead.

They are lined up in order of their District, and I see Jordon standing in line already. I hurry next to him.

"You missed the first part of instruction. Basically, she's saying that we can fight with each other and do whatever we want, just no killing." Jordon whispers, leaning toward me and keeping his eyes up front.

I see Sonia in the stands surrounding the giant arena, but try not to look at her. Maybe she doesn't see me...

"Anna!" She calls, waving her hand.

I avert my eyes, and pretend like I didn't hear her.

People are looking around, trying to see who Sonia is calling to.

"Anna Keeler!" She yells, but if I want to, I can be an excellent ignorer, and I want to right now.

I thought that I was safe and that they wouldn't know that Sonia was looking for me, but then the instructor, a woman who looks kind but tough as nails, takes out a list.

Roll call.

"Let's see here. Who's next? Anna Keeler?"

I raise my hand shyly.

"Here." I croak, pulling on the collar of our uniform.

Seeing the bloodthirsty looks that the other tributes are giving me, I suddenly need some more air.

"Here." I cleared my throat so that my voice rang out a little clearer.

Some people grin, and a HUGE, muscular girl cracks her knuckles.

Crud, I think to myself.

I wait, stiff as a soldier as the woman walks up and down the line calling names.

Finally, she's finished and chucks the clipboard on the ground.

"I'm going to let you all get going now, as soon as I let you know what's available. First up, there's hand-to-hand combat. There's a sword station, an archery range, a plant and knot-tying station, camouflage, and other things. All will be crucially important to your survival. Don't automatically discount one. You will need to know what plants will kill you and which are edible, and you will need to be able to disguise yourselves as the landscape around you when an allegiance comes after you. I would recommend trying everything, and getting better at what you're weakest at. Now, get to work!" She yells, and taps a button on the floor with her foot.

She sinks down into the ground on a platform and then pops up behind the glass in the spectating area.

The button and the platform disappears.

The large girl grabs me by the front of my shirt and lifts me up off of the ground.

Her perfect black curls fall in front of her face, which is pale with purple-black lipstick and too much eye products, namely eyeliner and purple and black eyeshadow.

"How good are you at... Group combat?"

The next thing I knew, I was standing in a fighting ring facing the girl, Molly, from District 2.

She had me down in a second, shoving her fists into my stomach.

"Capitol. Lover!" She grunted with every punch.

The wind was knocked out of me and I didn't even have time to catch my breath because then she was punching my face over and over again.

"Don't knock her out, Molly!"

I looked up gratefully to a boy who was standing over her.

"Let some of us have a piece!"

The boy who I thought was my savior stood me up and then sent his fist crashing into my nose, sending me back down and splattering the floor with my blood.

The others dog piled on top of me, and hitting and kicking whatever part of me they could get.

I tried to get out, but the pack was too good and knew the exact holds to keep me down.

Finally, a fuzzy, dark shape appeared in my line of vision.

Everyone got off of me and left the ring.

My vision was waxing and waning.

I rolled over onto my stomach and started sobbing so hard, I couldn't even get a breath, and then the last thing I remember is someone grabbing my hand and leading me out of the arena.

"You were out for hours." A voice says.

"It's a wonder that you ever woke up!"

I open my eyes blearily and look around. I see no one.

"I'm over here."

I'm in a dark room with a dim light. There is a cot that I am laying on and a white table. A figure hops off of the table that they were sitting on and steps into the light.

A dark-skinned woman stands in front of me, arms crossed, observing quietly.

"Where am I?" I ask, confused.

The woman leans forward.

"What's the last thing you remember, dear?" She asks, gently touching my arm.

I would have withdrawn, but seeing as she's the only normal person besides Jordon that I've seen since District 12, I don't. I scan my memory for anything that stands out. I sit up, and pain tears through my stomach.

Then, it all comes rushing back.

"Did you take me out of the arena?"

"Yes. I dressed your wounds in the bathroom. You were pretty bad, but I think you'll be okay now. You bruised a few ribs, needed 12 stitches and just a few things that were easily aided by a Band-Aid. Other than that, you're face is pretty swollen. I must say, it's going to be hard to impress the judges this year."

"With what?"

"Don't you know? The opening games! They're happening tonight, and you need to be there, injured or not. Now, luckily I've designed a costume that we'll talk about over lunch. You hungry?"

I nod. I'm famished. Fights take a lot out of you.

"Come." She beckons toward a room.

It's a lot like my room back at the hotel, but more small and filled. There's a TV playing the background and a radio. There are couches and plush chairs, upholstered with black and white leather.

In the center of the room, there's a couch and a glass table with a small panel built into it.

I take a seat facing the window. It's light outside, and the noise of cars are just starting to creep in, meaning that it must be morning.

The woman presses a button on the panel, and instantly, the table starts to glow red. I lean forward, staring at it, but the woman holds up a warning hand, looking frightened. She shakes her head.

"Don't touch the table! It's hot. It's making breakfast."

I am about to laugh, but then I realize that she is serious, and not a moment later, the table flips over all by itself, and a breakfast hearty enough to fill a King and his court popped up.

There are succulent pastries, cinnamon rolls that are so covered in sweet glaze, my mouth waters just by looking at them, croissants with jelly in the middle, donuts and much more, and breakfast meats, such as bacon, sausage links and steak and eggs. There are scrambled eggs, sunny-side up eggs, over-easy eggs and several delectable looking omelets dripping with cheese. There are several cereals lining the table, also. There's milk, orange juice and cranberry juice, and just water. There must be at least a dozen different types of marmalade and jam, and there are 12 pieces of toast (and some small rolls that must be left over from last night's dinner which I must have missed) all soaked with butter.

I can't decide what to have, so I just choose a cinnamon roll and shake some cereal into a bowl. When I'm finished scarfing it down, I snatch a piece of toast from the table and devour it.

The woman doesn't touch any of it, but merely watches me. I suddenly realize how savage I must look and slow down, patting the corners of my mouth with a napkin.

She laughs.

"No, no, enjoy your meal. But soon, we must talk."

I push my bowl and plate away from me, finishing my orange juice and setting it down.

"I'm finished."

"You sure?" She asks.

"Yes, thank you."

The woman pushes another button, a different one, and says clearly: "Throw away."

"Wait!" I shout, louder than I mean to.

She looks startled, and then clears her throat and says, "Erase command. Save."

"Saving meal." A cool, computer automated voice replies.

There is a pleasant whirring sound, and then the entire meal is vanished, whisked away by technology.

The woman smiles and extends a hand.

"Hello. I am Nallia, and I will be your makeup artist. I believe in a more... Eccentric style than what you're used to. I mean," she uncrossed her legs and walked to the other side of the room, where the television hung on the wall.

Nallia picked up a tiny, white remote control and pressed a button, aiming it at the TV.

Instantly, a montage of photographs flashed across the screen.

"With all of our resources, why not use them? The future is coming, Anna, and we must be free to feel its effects." She gave me a grin that looked wicked to me for some reason, clasping her hands in front of her.

"So. Let's get started."


End file.
